Bite me

When Jackson moved up to the toddler room at daycare, we got a note about what to expect with the new schedule, what his days would look like, and a little about new behaviors he might encounter.

Please know that biting and hitting and scratching are more common with this age group because the children are not verbal, meaning they cannot use words to let another child know “don’t take that”, “that is mine”, “I don’t like that”, etc.

I was so sad, the idea of my little buddy getting hurt by a bully while I was oblivious at work. I didn't want to think about him growing up and having to deal with fending off kids who didn't want to share or play nice. I think I'd just rather he stay little forever.

My fears were confirmed earlier this week, though not in the way I anticipated. On Monday, I walked in at 4:30 to pick up my sweet boy. One of the teachers walked up with not one but two incident reports. First one was pretty standard: Jackson was running and tripped over his shoes and got a fat lip. It happens. Second one was a bit more unexpected:

What?!? Seriously? It was only Monday and I had already been unofficially given the Worst Parent of the Week award at daycare. Where the heck did this come from? Jackson has never bit us when he's been mad or upset. So they were going to talk with him about "no biting," said it was a phase, and we put it behind us. Maybe it was because another kid accidentally pushed him. Jackson wasn't the bully; he was just defending himself!

This theory lasted until Tuesday, when I got this:

And this:

Crap. One day shy of his 17-month birthday and I get called in for an emergency parent/teacher conference. I was so upset about this last night I was almost physically sick. (Fortunately, I've got a good friend who had a biter, and she knew just what to say to make me feel less bad.)

While I was getting him ready this morning, we had several conversations that went something like this, "Jackson, look. There's a shark on your shirt. And the shark has teeth. But the shark does not bite his friends." And, "Jackson, today you're going to go to school and you're going to play outside and eat lunch and take a nap but you are not going to bite the other kids. We do not bite." In one ear and out the other. I might as well have been telling him that he was going to an all-you-can-eat pasta buffet for dinner.

So then Chad and I trotted off bright and early for a little appointment in the principal's office. The best news of the day, they didn't kick him out. Didn't even threaten to. We actually had a fairly productive conversation about what could be causing this and what we can do at home to help the teachers, especially since he has never done anything like this with us. (And we did hear one comment that is consistent in every single meeting we have ever had with doctors, nurses, teachers...which went something like this: "Jackson is a very active boy. He has a LOT of energy.")

Then we left. And I waited. And waited. And waited for the end of the day. If I walked in to another incident report I was going to lose my mind.

I walked in and the head teacher did not go straight to the clipboard. Good sign. "Jackson had a very good day today." Halleluiah. My prayers worked. Or maybe that conversation this morning did the trick. Whatever or whoever is to thank for this, I'm grateful.

Here's hoping this phase was only two days long because I can't handle this scarlet letter much longer.